Amplification
by toggledog
Summary: Six months on, Sherlock and John are still dealing with the repercussions of Sherlock's attack, when new revelations force it all to the surface once more.  Sequel to 'Sherlock's Bane'.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Amplification

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson

Rating: NC17

Warnings: References to past rape

Sequel to 'Sherlock's Bane' (link here .net/s/6705082/1/Sherlocks_Bane).

Disclaimer: Belong to the brilliant minds of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Mark Gatiss & Stephen Moffat. I'm simply borrowing…

Summary: Six months on, Sherlock and John are still dealing with the repercussions of Sherlock's attack, when new revelations force it all to the surface once more.

Author's Notes: Seeing a snippet preview of the new season (here .com/watch?v=d3OUr55Rs8Q&feature=related) started my bunnies up for a sequel to my other fic. Enjoy!

Mycroft leant back in his chair and picked up the bottle of brandy, pouring himself a liberal amount. He felt he deserved it. After all, a three-hour long conversation with the United States President, regarding taking measures in ceasing a second global financial crisis, was enough to tire even the most intellectual of minds.

Certainly, Mycroft counted himself as in league with such figures as Hawkings and Sagan. As such, other people felt it necessary to consult him on the most tepid of issues.

Being a genius could be insipidly arduous, at times.

He lifted the tumbler and swallowed, feeling the liquid pleasantly burn his throat. As though aware he was taking even a moment out from his hectic schedule, his intercom then buzzed.

"Mr. Woolley to see you." His secretary's voice was almost masculine in it's huskiness.

"Certainly." He picked up the glass and bottle and walked over to the cabinet to the right side of the office, placing them in and locking the door. "Let him in."

He settled himself back into his leather office chair, when the door opened to a bespectacled, balding man in his early thirties. He patted his bald patch, fingers twitching in his usual nervous manner.

"Ah… Mr. Woolley." Mycroft stood up and walked over to shake his hand. "How can I be of assistance?"

Mr. Woolley cleared his throat. "As you are aware, the SIS picked up Terrance Loggings yesterday."

Mycroft nodded, waiting for the usual accolades, for being instrumental in discovering the whereabouts of the terrorist. Loggings had been responsible for the bombing of a well-frequented pub in the centre of London. Twenty people perished. Double that were injured. Before Mycroft became involved, he was off the grid for two years. There was a marked competitiveness between Mycroft's people and the people of the Secret Intelligence Service. Nevertheless, they finally went to him out of desperation. Mycroft was able to locate him within two days of becoming involved. It had been not a minute too late. Loggings had set up bombs in a London football stadium, designed to go off at quarter time. The SIS had managed to disengage them without alerting the public.

"Have you had any success in interrogating him?"

Perhaps accolades were not to be forthcoming.

"Some… this is what I came here talk to you about."

"Oh?" He walked back behind his desk and sat down. "Please sit." He gestured to the chair in front.

"He has… extra information, in regards to your brother Sherlock Holmes." Woolley continued to stand.

"And what would that be?"

What has my brother been up to now?

"He claims that six months ago, he set up secret video cameras in the labs at St. Bartholomew's Hospital, in order to gather information to co-ordinate an attack there."

Mycroft felt his heart start to pound in his chest. He didn't need his genius to trace back the timeline.

"But then he says he and his partner, disengaged them, when they came up with the football stadium scenario."

He placed his briefcase on the desk and pulled out a folder, opening it to a large black and white photo of a surly looking man with hooded eyes and lank looking long dark hair.

"Roy Cohen. Loggings said he went awol a few days ago, after Loggings discovered him watching a tape that he had thought had been destroyed. Loggings denies having any knowledge of what was on the tape before this. He claims that when the cameras were destroyed, he was sure the tapes inside had been destroyed but Cohen had evidentially kept this one."

Mycroft kept his face deliberately stoic, though his innards were in turmoil.

"Certainly, he could be lying. That's why I had to come here and ask you in person."

Mycroft knew what he was going to say and mentally prepared himself.

"He claims the tape shows Sherlock Holmes being sexually assaulted."

Mycroft felt his stomach cramp.

"Where is the tape now? Surely you can see for yourself?"

"He says Cohen still has the tape."

Mycroft tried to control his frantically hammering heart. This man Loggings could be lying, he told himself. Perhaps this is a ploy of Moriarty. But to what end? Why create such an elaborate set up?

He did not want to even consider the other alternative. Logging's partner discovering the sexual assault on the tape and keeping it (_for six months… six months!_ Mycroft inwardly winced as the screw in his stomach tightened.) not telling even his partner, just watching it … _in secret… _

"I need to talk to Terrance Loggings." He stood up and reached for his coat. "Take me to him."

###

John lay awake in the dark, hand reaching out to the cold pillow beside himself.

_What just happened?_

It had started out innocently enough, the usual kissing, stroking, licking. Then Sherlock had looked at him with such a focused expression that John felt the hairs on his arms stand on end.

"I wish to penetrate you, John."

Not exactly the most romantic come on John had ever had but the doctor was more than happy to oblige. He had dropped hints, in the past few weeks of wanting Sherlock to take charge more.

It had been years since John had been penetrated so, despite quite a lot of preparation, as Sherlock entered him, he instantly tensed in pain.

"It's ok, it's ok. Keep going." He said, in response to Sherlock's concerned expression.

As his lover started to move, hitting his prostate, John felt the pleasure start to overtake. This was what he had wanted for so long. Now he and Sherlock knew each other, completely. He was content to give up this part of himself, to show his lover that he trusted him to take control, to be the vulnerable one. He groaned, thrusting his hips and falling into a rhythm with the great detective.

"Sherlock yes!"

Sherlock moaned. "John…" He fell silent. "So good John so… no no! Salt! Salt!"

Salt was their safe word, for whenever Sherlock felt uncomfortable when they were making love.

He suddenly and abruptly pulled out so fast that John yelped in pain.

"Damn, Sherlock, what the-?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry John."

"Sherlock… talk to me…"

Only the young man was already up from the bed, pulling his dressing gown on.

"Sherlock…"

Sherlock left the room, slamming the door behind him and leaving John in darkness.

_Well, that was… what was that?_

He was suddenly aware that his erection was completely gone.

_What to do now?_

He punched the pillow and grabbed his own terrycloth gown, shrugging it on and forcing himself out of the bed and room, stomping down the stairs.

Sherlock lay on the couch at the bottom, staring up at the ceiling, fingers templed together.

"Must you follow me around like a stray dog? Can't you ever leave me in peace?"

"What the hell happened back there, Sherlock?"

The young man didn't reply.

"Was it a flashback?"

"I don't want to have sexual relations any more."

John felt a knife slice into his gut. "Excuse me? Hang on a second. Hold that thought." He grabbed the armchair and pulled it forward, until it sat barely a metre before the couch, then sat down.

"I'm very tired…" Sherlock closed his eyes.

"Sherlock… I deserve to know what happened up there."

"Why? Why are you worthy of anything?"

John closed his eyes and counted to ten. It was the only way to cease from losing his temper, when Sherlock was in one of these moods.

"Because we were just doing a very intimate thing. On my part it's been years since I've allowed a man to… to make love to me like that."

Sherlock opened his eyes and turned his head to face him. "But you've penetrated countless women and men."

"Not countless… look, doesn't that tell you something about how I feel about you?" He lowered his voice. "I was really enjoying it. You… seemed to be too… at first…"

Sherlock scowled at him, then turned and faced into the couch. "Leave me alone."

"Fine." John stood up. "Be that way. You know, you're being completely irrational."

He shook his head and then stomped back up the stairs to the bed. He lay awake for at least an hour, in the hopes of hearing Sherlock's familiar light step. But it never happened.

###

Sherlock sat down in front of Emma, feeling chilled to the bone despite the warmth of the open fireplace across from him. He shuddered and folded his arms tighter around himself.

"So…" Emma poked the burning logs a little, forcing the flames to lick higher. "Last time you were telling me about the case of the giant hound that-"

"I've been here for over six months and we're not getting anywhere."

Emma raised an eyebrow. "Do you really believe that, Sherlock? I think you've made a vast improvement. By your own account, both the nightmares and flashbacks rarely occur now and you've started work again. You're in a good solid relationship-" She caught Sherlock's frown. "Did something happen with John?"

"Nothing that I wish to discuss."

Sherlock recalled John's face that morning, upon walking into the loungeroom from upstairs. As was normal for the doctor, he attempted to talk to Sherlock.

The great detective was beyond words, however.

Except to say he'd take his own taxi to see his psychiatrist and that John needn't follow.

"I notice he wasn't in the waiting room today."

"He's not a pet." Sherlock snarled.

"Of course not. A man of your intellect would be bored within a minute of someone who obeyed your every command."

_Oh but why should we always talk about me? _

"She was sixteen, wasn't she, when she suicided? Your daughter?"

He felt absurd satisfaction at the anguish that momentarily sparked in the usually calm brown eyes.

"Why? Weren't you a good enough mother? Is that it?"

"If you want to hurt me you'll have to do a hell of a lot better than that."

"Why would I want to do that? I'm merely asking out of a detached professional interest."

"No, something's hurt you and you want to, in turn, hurt someone else, to restore the balance. Is that what happened? You hurt John?"

"No… I would never…"

Not John. Never John.

Sherlock relented. He unfolded his hands and looked down at his long fingers. "We were…I've never…to John… so we tried…"

"You're talking about sexual intercourse?"

"It was very stimulating at first. Then it suddenly came to me that this was what… this was what Toll must have felt when he was… penetrating me."

"Sherlock…" Emma spoke very quietly. "How was John reacting?"

"He also seemed to be finding it stimulating. But after I.. .had that thought, I said our safe word and ceased the penetration."

"Did you tell John why you stopped?"

"No… I couldn't…"

"Sherlock… you've told me that you and John have rather an active sex life. What was it about this encounter that was so different?"

"I told you! This was the first time that I penetrated John."

"So you say you were both enjoying it, when you had the thought that this was what Toll felt when he was raping you, correct? Tell me, Sherlock, was John struggling, screaming? Did he say no? Did he say the safe word?"

Sherlock felt his stomach ice over. "No! No he wanted to!"

"Sherlock, what you felt was not what Toll felt. You love John. It was just as much about him enjoying himself as much as you, is that fair enough for me to say?"

Sherlock nodded.

"By your own account, Toll beat you, strangled you, raped you so viciously you needed stitches, the entire time verbally humiliating you. What he felt was power, control, dominance. What he felt was what it was like to beat and hurt another human being, the worst way he could think of."

Sherlock took a deep, shaky breath. "It makes sense… intellectually, of course. I just…I thought it was over. I thought I was…well I'll never be normal but…"

"It's alright to fall down, Sherlock. Even a genius is only human."

###

John was nowhere to be seen, upon arrival at 221b. Scowling, Sherlock turned on the television and flicked through the channels. He finally settled on a Bill rerun. About half way though the episode, just as Mickey was about to apprehend the suspect, he heard the key turn in the latch, followed by John's voice.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson."

Sherlock pointed the remote at the television and switched it off, then stood to face John. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears.

"Hi Sherlock." He sounded oddly formal. "Mrs. Hudson made us cake. Again…I swear I'm going to have to start a gym membership." As he talked, he wandered to the kitchen and placed the cake on the dining table.

"I thought it must have been what Toll felt." Sherlock said quickly.

"Huh?" John swung around to face him.

"When we were… that's why I stopped. I was enjoying the relations… but then it came to my mind that Toll must have felt the same way, when he was penetrating me."

Something flashed in John's eyes.

"Damn it, Sherlock!"

Now the expression was clearer.

Pure frustration.

"Toll raped you! He beat you, strangled you-"

"Yes, that's what Emma told me."

"Do you think I feel like that, when I'm making love to you? Do you think I'm feeling like I'm raping you?"

Sherlock felt the blood run from his face. "No… not at all…"

John took a deep breath. "I wanted it. I've been wanting to try it for quite some time."

"I'm aware I'm psychologically damaged-"

John walked over to him and stood directly in front of him. "Do you want to hurt me, Sherlock? Beat me? Force me? Make me cry-"

"Stop this!" Sherlock could barely hear any more.

"Answer the question!" He demanded.

"No, of course not!"

"Then what you felt wasn't what Toll felt, ok?" He reached out and took Sherlock's hand. "It's ok that it felt good. It's meant to feel good."

"I would never… John I wouldn't…"

"I know." He put his arms around the taller man. "I was just making a point."

Sherlock placed his own arms around John, feeling the soft warmth of his baggy jumper.

"It's ok, Sherlock. I want you to be in control. I trust you, ok? I trust you."

###

That night, a lacklustre night of television led to some frisky action on the couch, leading up to the bedroom. Sherlock felt anxious but was determined to go through with it.

This time, he was successful. He simply allowed his immense mind to let go.

Afterwards, both lay panting, side by side, on the bed together.

"Wow! That was…"

"Agreed." Sherlock said.

John turned and started nibbling his ear. "Poor old Mrs. Hudson's probably never getting any sleep."

Sherlock laughed, rolled so he could lazily kiss John on the mouth.

"Sleep." He said, after they released. "I'm expecting a client at nine am."

John yawned loudly. "Good night sexy Sherlock."

"Good night… jockey John."

John burst out laughing.

"I apologize, there aren't many adjectives that start with J."

"."

"Go to sleep." Sherlock pecked him on the mouth then closed his eyes, falling into a deep slumber, only to be awoken by the seven am alarm clock.

Tbc…


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Amplification Part Two

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson

Rating: NC17

Warnings: References to past rape

Sequel to 'Sherlock's Bane' (link here .net/s/6705082/1/Sherlocks_Bane).

Disclaimer: Belong to the brilliant minds of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Mark Gatiss & Stephen Moffat. I'm simply borrowing…

Summary: Six months on, Sherlock and John are still dealing with the repercussions of Sherlock's attack, when new revelations force it all to the surface once more.

Author's Notes: Thanks for pointing out my typo at the end! Not good to write when one's sick with flu. All fixed now.

Mycroft peered through the double-glazed glass, a slight frown marring his face, as he studied the man beyond.

Such a sad, misguided man, consumed by vengeance. Shame, as he does seem rather intelligent.

A buzzing in his pocket confirmed that a text had been received. He took his mobile out and flicked it open, reading the display.

**Sherlock arrived home from psychiatrist twenty minutes ago.**

_Good, good._

Content that his brother was safe, for now, in the keen surveillance of his fellow operatives, he turned his attention back to the man seated in the interrogation room. The terrorist kept his head low, salt and pepper hair covering his face.

Mycroft looked at Woolley and nodded. Woolley then took out a key and slotted it into the steel door, opening it. The elder Holmes brother adjusted his tie, and then stepped into the room.

"Knew you'd turn up sooner or later." Loggings still hadn't looked up. "The great Mycroft Holmes. It's an honour to be in such esteemed company."

Mycroft sat down in the chair opposite him. "Can't say I can claim the same, unfortunately."

The man finally looked up. Mycroft noted the yellow bruising marking the man's face.

"Oh… I see. Like the others, you're terribly upset that I killed 46 people."

"Let's not talk about that-"

"No, let's talk about it. Let's talk about death, and who should be held accountable. Thousands of Iraqi's have died since the beginning of the war that your government supported, thousands more Afghani's. You hold a top position, supposedly a moral man." He looked up, grey eyes cold. "Which means you supported it."

Mycroft said nothing, simply allowed him to speak.

"What angers me the most aren't the people like you. It's the public. The idiotic plebs that just go along with it. They allow the government to commit murder. You think forty-six people means anything, when compared to how many Irish have been murdered? Or Indians, half a century ago? This country has far more blood on its hands than a mere forty-six people."

_Boring!_

"This conversation is terribly unexcit-"

"So I figured, that if the public knew how it felt, the fear, the anger, the betrayal… then they would want to put a stop to it. Tell me, Mr. Holmes, what's forty-six people compared to millions slaughtered for the sake of British Imperialism?" His eyes looked very pale, in the soft light filtering through the half shut blinds above.

"To be honest, Mr. Loggings, I'm not particularly interested in your philosophy, fascinating though it is." His sarcasm rolled eloquently off his tongue.

Loggings leant back in his chair and eyed Mycroft studiously. "Ah… you want to know about the tape. Thousands of women are raped in the Sudan every day, in a war we do nothing to help. Why? Because it isn't in our interest. But one little London investigator takes it up the ass, then I get your attention."

"Ah so you're an advocate for world peace! The fact that your family were mercenaries for the IRA have no bearing on your politics whatsoever."

A slight smirk developed at the corner of Logging's mouth. "I told the others that Cohen has the tape. And I don't know where he is. After I discovered him watching it, we had a bit of a scrape, which I lost." He pointed to his cheek. "Cohen hightailed it."

"What a fascinating imagination that you have."

The smirk widened. "I would be worried for your brother, if I were you, Mr. Holmes. When I caught Cohen watching it, he was… what's a polite way of saying it? Getting himself off…"

Mycroft swallowed the rush of rage attempting to exit his body. He recalled the information on Cohen, hastily given to him prior to entering the facility. No criminal record. Had spent ten years as a prison officer.

Conjecture around the prison was that he had been witness to more than one prison rape.

Regardless, he refused to allow this man to see any vulnerability.

"You should be a novelist."

"I'm telling the truth! Cohen saw Sherlock Holmes in the lab and recognized him from the website. He's into all that stuff. Me, I didn't much care. After we started on the football stadium plan, we disabled the cameras and destroyed the tapes. At least, I thought we had, until I walked in on him watching your brother handcuffed to a bench and taking it up the ass from some fat balding guy."

Mycroft recalled visiting Sherlock the day after his attack. Among his other injuries, he noted ligature marks around his wrists, the contour of which could only come from handcuffs.

"Cohen's an idiot! He doesn't have an ounce of greatness in him. Moving away from the plan to fantasize about fucking some rape victim! If I'm caught, then I want damn sure that he be caught too. I like you, Mycroft. So, I'll help you."

Mycroft stood up. This man had nothing more to say to him, other than conjecture and boasting.

"Thank you for-"

"Wait, wait. I can give you something I didn't tell the others."

Mycroft waited patiently.

This had better be good.

"I do know where he is. I can tell you his hideout."

###

"It shouldn't be too trifling. After all, it is obvious it was one of the family members. That already rules out the possibility of it being a stranger killing."

The man peered at Sherlock over the top of his newspaper, drinking in his unusual good looks, the excitable way he moved his long fingers about as he talked.

"And why would you say that?" The fair-haired man across from the genius asked.

Ah… his annoying companion. Not that the man was too bothered. He would simply deal with the doctor first. A quick shot between the eyes would do it, leaving him more time with Sherlock.

He'd been following them since Piccadilly Terrace. When they brought a ticket in the underground to York, he brought one too, alighting after them. He sat himself in the seat opposite and had been surreptitiously watching them for half an hour.

"Because if it was a stranger, the dog would have barked."

"Of course… brilliant."

"If you'll excuse me, John." Sherlock stood up.

The man quickly put the newspaper up to cover his face.

"Excuse me. Is it an autograph you want? Or do you want my picture?"

The man lowered the newspaper. Sherlock stood directly in front of him.

"It's just that you've been following us since Piccadilly Terrace. As a prison officer, I assume you'd be familiar with some of my cases."

The man admitted to being impressed by the detective's show of brilliance.

"I had another idea in mind." He spoke low. "Seeing as you enjoy being handcuffed to desks and fucked, I figure I'd have a go."

The detective's expression suddenly went from cold geniality to white faced shock.

"Excuse me?"

_Just having a little fun, Mr. Holmes._

"You heard me, _whore_." He stood up and walked towards the end of the carriage to the toilet, expecting Sherlock stop him. He risked looking back. The genius was staring after him, seemingly quite shaken.

He fantasized that same stunned white face beneath him, the pale blue eyes alight with horror as he forced his entry into the warm body.

_Not yet. Not quite the right time. _

He opened up the toilet door and stepped into the small cubicle, locking it behind him.

Gotta take care of something.

He undid his pants, as the small figure stood up from where he had been crouching behind the toilet. The man had a split second to process surprise at the gun pointed at his face, before the bullet went straight through his forehead and into his brain, killing him instantly.

###

"What was that about? You say he was foll-"

John stopped talking the moment he noted something was wrong. Sherlock sat back down opposite him, positively ashen in colour. His right hand trembled a little.

"What did that man say to you?"

Sherlock shook his head, his eyes were a little unfocused.

"Sherlock-" John reached out to touch his hand, only to have it snatched back.

"He knew." He spoke so quietly that John could barely hear the words.

"He knew about my rape. He knew details."

"What?"

"I thought he was simply a fan. But then he talked about me being handcuffed to a desk and fucked. That's how he put it. How could he possibly know? The only one I've ever told the full details to is you."

John clenched his fist. It seemed they couldn't have a normal damned conversation without Sherlock's rape being brought up once more. When was it ever going to end?

Ok, ok just calm yourself down.

"Tell me, Sherlock exactly how the conversation went."

"Well, I intimated that he wanted an autograph or photo, seeing as he'd followed us from Piccadilly square. He said he had another idea in mind and that as I enjoyed being handcuffed to a table and fucked, then he should have a go."

"He said what?"

"I thought surely I wasn't hearing correctly so I said excuse me? And he said 'you heard me..' ah yes and then he delightfully called me a whore."

"Right! That's it! Where is this asshole?" John stood up.

"He went into the toilets. I presume he'll be out soon, where we can speak to him and have this cleared up. I admit I was too shocked, and too busy suffering a flashback, to converse properly earlier."

John stood up. He wasn't in the mood for a 'proper conversation'. Not with his mouth anyway. His fists seemed keener to converse.

"John, sit down. I'm not interested in the verbal abuse part of the conversation. That's immaterial-"

John took a few deep breaths, endeavoring to calm himself down. He sat back down opposite Sherlock and took his hand. "Don't get me wrong, Sherlock. I am well aware that, despite your delicate physique-"

"I do not have a delicate physique!"

"That you are more than capable in terms of taking care of yourself. You could seriously hurt this man. But let me… please? It would be my pleasure to kick his head in for you."

With that, he abruptly stood up and started to walk to the back of the carriage.

"John… this isn't…"

But John ignored him, continuing to storm forward. He reached the closed men's door and knocked.

"Open up!"

"Really, John this is completely unnecessary!" Sherlock had followed him and now stood directly behind.

"Believe me, Sherlock it is."

"I mean it truly is. I can faintly detect urine and faeces, as well as the hint of copper and gunpowder. He voided his bowels and bladder before he was shot."

John turned and looked straight at Sherlock. "What?"

"The killer could have only escaped by climbing out of the window and jumping off the train. Very dangerous. They must have been a pro." Sherlock roughly pushed him aside and slam kicked the door, forcing it open to reveal the body and an open upper window.

###

Though Mycroft's worry was constantly for Sherlock, he could not dedicate himself to his brother constantly. So it had to be that he dispatched members of his team to search the apartment given to him by Loggings, as he boarded a plane to Japan, to attend to a _delicate_ situation.

He had just picked up his overnight luggage from the conveyer belt, when his mobile rang.

"Loggings has been killed, execution style. He was found on the same train as Sherlock and John Watson. He was found _by_ Sherlock and John Watson." Anthea's cool voice sounded down the line.

Mycroft nodded at the man directly ahead holding the plaque bearing his name.

"Hm… this complicates matters. Still no luck finding the tape?"

He couldn't express much surprise at his brother unwittingly injecting himself into his own investigation.

"We've combed through every possible space of the apartment and found nothing."

The only other possibility is that Loggings had the tape on him and whoever executed him took it from him.

"Keep looking." He flipped his mobile shut.

###

The assassin held a gloved hand out. The man opposite's lip curled up into a half smile.

"But of course. You'd want a reward, wouldn't you? For your curt work."

He reached into the pocket of his trench coat and pulled out a revolver. The assassin had a moment to register fury at this betrayal, before the bullet lodged in his brain.

The man repocketed his weapon.

"Dispose of the body." He gestured to the henchmen around him, his attention fully focused on the tape in his hands.

"Now now sweet Sherlock. Let's see what this tape has to show." Moriarty's reptilian smile grew wider.

Tbc…


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Amplification Part Three

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson

Rating: NC17

Warnings: References to past rape

Sequel to 'Sherlock's Bane' (link here .net/s/6705082/1/Sherlocks_Bane).

Disclaimer: Belong to the brilliant minds of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Mark Gatiss & Stephen Moffat. I'm simply borrowing…

Summary: Six months on, Sherlock and John are still dealing with the repercussions of Sherlock's attack, when new revelations force it all to the surface once more.

Author's Notes: Apologies for the long delay. Have been incredibly busy. Enjoy!

John had to admit, he was beyond impressed. Surely, Sherlock had now set a record for the shortest amount of time to solve a case. Indeed, within minutes of arriving at the grand homestead, just outside of York, he had given substantial evidence pointing to the groundskeeper as the murderer. Then, he had simply turned to John and told him they would be going back home, much to the chagrin of the local detective.

Certainly, John knew what was really going on. Sherlock was obviously keen to solve the murder of the man on the train. As soon as they informed the conductor of the body, they had been instantly whisked out of their carriage and onto a waiting bus. Sherlock had insisted on staying to investigate but had been flatly refused.

"You have to admit, it is odd." John turned to Sherlock, London scenery flying past the window, as the taxi turned into Baker Street.

"No… I know what's going on." Sherlock was evasive as ever.

The taxi pulled up to the curb alongside 221 and Sherlock departed the vehicle, leaving John to pay. Frowning, he took out his wallet and fished around for the correct money.

He jumped out of the vehicle and closed the door, racing up the stairs to find the door to 221b already open. Sherlock was already inside.

And he wasn't alone.

Not that John was entirely surprised to see Mycroft seated at the kitchen table, sipping tea.

"Ah John. I was hoping you could talk some sense into my impertinent brother."

Sherlock had slumped down into the armchair, arms folded, a distinct frown about his delicate features.

"I understand there was a bit of bother on your train today. I was just telling Sherlock that there is no need for him to investigate-"

"What's going on here?"

Something flashed in Mycroft's eyes, confirming to John that he knew something. "I already have it under control."

"Who was that man?"

"No one that concerns either of you."

"Well, he certainly seemed to know Sherlock."

Mycroft took another sip of his tea. "As I said it will be cleared up. No need to be involved."

John glanced to the silent Sherlock once more. "Don't you think that's up to Sherlock to decide? Particularly as it seems to involve him?"

Mycroft abruptly stood up. "I will hear no more on the subject. Sherlock…" His face softened imperceptibly. "I'm doing this to protect you."

"Why did he know about my…. Attack?" Sherlock finally swung his head around to face Mycroft. "He mentioned details."

Mycroft appeared stunned. "I don't know anything about that, Sherlock."

The room was silent a long moment.

"I'll take my leave."

John waited until the door closed before joining Sherlock on the couch and taking his hand.

"He's lying."

"Of course he's lying! Bloody families never tell the damned truth!" John's mind went to the circular arguments that were the cornerstone of his relationship with his sister.

"No matter." Sherlock lifted John's hand and kissed it, then jumped up. "Let's see what we can find out about this mystery man. Now, where did you last put your laptop?"

###

Moriarty deliberately drew out watching the tape in his possession. He enjoyed a long luxuriant bubble bath, and then took his time dressing, then arranging his viewing position. It had to be the correct angle, with just the right champagne to accompany.

After all, it wasn't every day that one was privy to the utter humiliation of one's arch-nemesis.

He settled himself into the fluffy couch and reached for his glass in one hand, while pointing the remote at the television with the other, pressing the play button.  
>There was static a long moment, before a black and white image appeared on the screen of the laboratory in which he and Sherlock first met. Moriarty took a sip of his champagne, relishing the soft bubbles fall down his throat. For a few minutes, the only image was the top of Sherlock's curly hair, as he peered into the microscope. Then Toll walked into view. Sherlock looked up from the microscope, appeared to be talking to him. No sound, however issued from the footage. Moriarty watched silently as the man started to beat Sherlock. He was amused to see that the great detective did, indeed possess some fighting skills. However he was soon overpowered. For a long moment, Sherlock lay on the ground, as the other's bald shiny head loomed his body, blocking what was happening.<p>

"Move!" Moriarty whispered.

Then the man did move. He lifted the apparently unconscious Sherlock up and slammed him down onto the bench, handcuffing his hands over his head, and then moving away. Sherlock was attempting to converse. Even from the high angle, Moriarty cold see the terror in every line of his being. He could not take his eyes off the screen, both disgusted and aroused, as the man tore open Sherlock's shirt. Again, Sherlock was attempting to talk to him. The man returned with a scarf, tying it around his head. Moriarty felt the knot in his stomach tighten, as the man tore off Sherlock's remaining shoes and clothes.

For a moment, Sherlock's naked body was in full view of the camera. Despite, or perhaps even because of his nemesis' complete shame and humiliation, Moriarty felt his body respond, a low yearning overcoming his anger. Indeed, Sherlock was all lean muscle and long lines.

Then the other man leant forward, covering the view of the body as he lifted Sherlock's legs over his head. Moriarty felt the disgust return, as the man's obese bottom started to pump up and down, his head covering Sherlock's own. Then, his head turned to the side and Moriarty momentarily caught Sherlock's face. It was turned to the side, eyes closed, and mouth open in a silent scream.

_I screamed too. I screamed and screamed and they just laughed and laughed._

The rape continued. Occasionally, the man would slow down, and then would speed up. Moriarty watched it all. He figured he owed Sherlock that much. Finally, the man quivered, his head pulled up as he roared towards the camera.

Then he collapsed, head seemingly buried in Sherlock's neck. The detective was staring up at the camera. Eyes blank. Mouth slightly agape.

Moriarty drew his hand down to his crotch, a little perplexed to find himself erect.

So, a part of him had enjoyed it.

Why else did you want the tape to begin with? He asked himself. You wanted to see what he's been giving to John for free every night.

No, it made no sense. What he had just seen was horrifying and disgusting and wrong. He knew first hand just how horrible it was.

_But if it was me on top of Sherlock, he wouldn't be screaming. _

Yes, that's it. Moriarty told himself. We belong together and he knows it.

He suddenly saw himself on top of the great detective, pictured Sherlock's long legs wrapping around his waist, his eyes alight with want and need…. _Yes, wanting it… begging for it…._

Rape was for the weak, the unimaginative. There were better ways to destroy a man. If he were to seduce Sherlock to his side…

_No one knows ourselves like each other. You'll discover that, Sherlock, in time._

Tbc…


	4. Chapter 4

Amplification Part Four

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson

Rating: NC17 sexy times and see other warnings

Warnings: References to past rape, voyeurism, all-round Moriarty ickiness

Sequel to 'Sherlock's Bane' (link here: .net/s/6705082/1/Sherlocks_Bane).

Other parts here: .net/s/7363369/1/Amplification

Disclaimer: Belong to the brilliant minds of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Mark Gatiss & Stephen Moffat. I'm simply borrowing…

Summary: Six months on, Sherlock and John are still dealing with the repercussions of Sherlock's attack, when new revelations force it all to the surface once more.

Author's Notes: Aaargh! I know season 2 has started in the UK and can't wait to see it when it comes to Australia! So apologies if this comes across as a little OOC, in regards to the new episode, as I haven't seen it yet. Anyway enjoy!

"You didn't have to come." John frowned and rearranged the shopping bags, easing the weight in his hands.

"Moriarty…" Sherlock muttered, walking a little faster up the footpath, beelining to the welcoming apartment.

"Huh?"

Sherlock didn't reply. Instead, he took out his keys and fitted them into their front door.

"Are you going to-?" _help me with these bags?_

Of course not. Sherlock hadn't helped him chose foods, as he walked around the aisles, instead choosing to bicker at him. Sherlock certainly didn't offer to help carry the bags as he walked out, instead started pondering about the reason for Mycroft's obstinacy that morning.

John shook his head, as he followed Sherlock in, still struggling with the bags.

"Ah… Sherlock, there was a man in this morning-" Mrs. Hudson trailed off as the figure ignored her, continuing upstairs to 221b.

"What man?" John quizzed her.

"Said he needed to look at your meter box. I let him into your apartment a few minutes to take a look."

John thought back to the last time they'd had their electricity looked at… no, on second thought, he couldn't recall a time they'd ever had their electricity looked at.

"Need help with those, dear?"

"I'm fine." He clumped up the stairs after Sherlock.

Once inside apartment 221b, John placed the bags on the kitchen bench and started going through them, taking out items and putting them in the fridge and pantry, as he attempted conversation.

"Mrs. Hudson said someone looked at our electricity meter."

"Oh?" Sherlock was seated at the dining room table and had already fired up his laptop.

"What did you mean by Moriarty?"

"Hmm…?"

A sharp rap on the door startled John a little.

"What would Lestrade be wanting? Let him in, would you, John?"

John didn't even bother with the simple fact that Sherlock was closer to the door, and that he currently had a carton of eggs in one hand and a packet of cereal in the other.

"Fine." He placed the items on the bench and stomped over to the door, opening it to a very harried looking inspector.

"Ah… Lestrade! To what do I owe the pleasure?" Sherlock finally looked up from the laptop. John walked back to the kitchen, once more.

"I received an interesting email today. Sender unknown."

John glanced over.

"It gave me the address and details of a paramedic and told me to look him up, in regards to the Legato, Philips and Robertson case."

"The one that-?" John began.

"Yes, I recall you two walking into my office six months earlier, asking for information on that very case. Rather a coincidence, don't you think?"

John looked to Sherlock.

"I didn't send you the email." Sherlock said blandly.

"What's this about, Sherlock?"

Sherlock leant back in the chair and shrugged. "I don't know."

Only he did know. Sherlock was, indeed a very fine actor, but John knew him well enough to see when he was lying.

"However, if you want me to look at the email, I should be able to give you some ideas as to the kind of person who sent it."

"Why would someone want to relook into a case that's been cold for over ten years? I know you know something, Sherlock."

Sherlock's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Unfortunately, we didn't find what we were looking for. Perhaps this person did. And is willing to share it…. Being a gracious person."

Lestrade was silent a moment. "Damn you! Why aren't you ever straight with me?"

"I am being straight with you. I don't know who this good Samaritan is."

Lestrade shook his head. "Waste of bloody time. Well, you know my number." He stormed out of the apartment without so much as a look back, closing the door behind him.

"You lied to him." John said. "You knew who the sender was."

"Oh it's obvious, John. What is deliciously interesting is what does Mycroft want Moriarty to back off from? Must have something to do with the dead terrorist on the train."

"Mycroft sent the email?"

Sherlock sent him a deeply condescending look. "Sometimes genius is so utterly frustrating."

"I'm sorry that my lack of genius intellect is so unappealing for you." John reached in for the butter and bread, taking them out of the plastic bags.

Sherlock didn't reply, his attention once more on his laptop.

###

Sherlock's soft whimpers sent John's already sensitive nerve endings alight. Gripping the bony hip tighter, he moved his head more forcefully up and down, relishing in utterly undoing the usually uptight genius.

"John wait… wait!"

John instantly stopped, looking up to the sight that always deleted all past annoyances from his mind; Sherlock's sweaty, aroused features.

"I want you to…"

John grinned, kissing his way up Sherlock's stomach and chest. He'd put on a bit of weight, thanks to John's cooking. Certainly, Sherlock would always be a slender man. But, at least now he looked healthy. He reached his mouth and plundered it with his tongue. Sherlock returned the kiss with equal ardor. Sherlock had once confessed to him that kissing was what he enjoyed the most.

"Particularly while you're… ravishing me…" Sherlock had said with such huskiness that John was determined to ravish him right then and there on the spot.

Unfortunately, he had whispered it while in the middle of a murder investigation. John had been unable to hide his physical excitement at Sherlock's words, much to the sniggering of Anderson.

John continued to ravish his mouth, as he fumbled in the nightstand for the lube.

Finally locating it, he unscrewed the top and tenderly prepared his lover. They had done this dozens of times now and not once had he ever hurt Sherlock. He intended to keep it that way. Sherlock's kisses started to be more passionate, his body thrusting back into John's long fingers.

"Ready?" He asked.

"Yes, yes!"

John applied a liberal amount to himself and slowly eased himself in, concentrating intently on Sherlock's panting, sweaty face. He brushed a stray curl off his cheek, and then claimed his mouth once more, as he started to move, slowly at first, then building tempo. Sherlock started to moan, thrusting up to move in time with him. John couldn't help but moan in agreeance, changing positions a little to hit the spot that caused Sherlock to moan louder. He felt Sherlock's long legs wrap almost painfully around his waist, his arms stroking John's short hair, his back, clutching at his butt. John reached between them to stroke his lover in time to his thrusts.

Finally, he could feel Sherlock's moans rising to a crescendo. He moved down from Sherlock's mouth to feast hungrily onto his neck.

"Oh oh John!" Sherlock's body clenched tight around him, as he orgasmed, causing John to cry out Sherlock's name, as he felt himself likewise let go.

He collapsed on top of his lover a moment, fully sated, before slowly withdrawing and moving to lay half off Sherlock, his head on his chest.

"God I love you."

Sherlock laughed. "Of course you do."

John kissed his chest, feeling the salty sweat on his lips.

"The man who checked the meter also came into our room."

"What?" John suddenly raised himself up on his arms to look down at Sherlock.

"Its ok. Nothing was stolen. Evidentially, there was nothing he wanted."

"For how long did you know this?" He rephrased. "You knew as soon as I told you, didn't you? How did you-? You know what, don't even bother."

"It appears no crime has been committed, apart from illegal trespass."

"No crime? Some sicko goes into our room and you say no crime has been committed?" John couldn't help but feel a little violated.

Sherlock grinned. "You are so cute when you get all riled up like that."

John put his head back down on Sherlock's chest. He certainly couldn't fathom his lover and best friend, at times.

###

It was, indeed, a gamble. Moriarty was impressed with how well it paid off. Of course, the video camera set up in the lab gave him the idea to begin with. He would have thought that Sherlock would have seen through it, straight away.

Evidentially not.

Moriarty didn't even have to wait long.

He settled back in his armchair at 8pm, the night the secret video camera was installed, switched on his television, sat back with a glass of port and waited.

For a few hours, the only view was of the economically furnished bedroom.

Then Sherlock and John stumbled in. Both were wet from the shower. John was naked, though Jim wasn't interested in him, apart from a perfunctory look at his body. Moriarty relaxed back, watching John push Sherlock back onto the bed, stripping his towel from his waist, and then lowering his head.

Well, well my little tramp! Moriarty thought. He felt stirrings below, watching Sherlock's sweating, panting face, hearing his whimpers.

It appeared John Watson was, too a good little whore.

Moriarty snickered to himself, taking another sip of his port.

"John, wait… wait!"

On the screen, John's head looked up.

"I want you to…"

Moriarty's grip tightened on the glass. Surely Sherlock wouldn't be up to… he'd been raped! He wouldn't…

Only, the evidence was clear, a few minutes later. After clearly applying the lube, John started vigorous thrusting… inside _his_ Sherlock. It was clear from Sherlock's moans that he was enjoying it.

Moriarty's mind went to the tape he'd watched merely days before. Almost the same set up… Sherlock, on his back with another man thrusting inside him. Only _that time_ Sherlock had called it rape.

Certainly, after his own rape, Moriarty could not even fathom being taken by a man, in the fashion that Sherlock was being taken on the screen before him.

Moriarty could take another man. Had, in fact, done so on a multitude of occasions. He preferred to have a muscle bound idiot, not unlike his own rapists, moaning with desire beneath him, begging him to fuck them harder, as he told them what whores and sluts they were.

But to be _taken _by another man again…

He had blocked a lot of it out. But flashes still remained. The intense pain. Snickers in the background.

"_He loves it! Slut wants all of it!"_

On the screen, the rise and fall of John's butt was reaching a frenzied peak. Sherlock's long legs were wrapped around his waist, his eyes closed, mouth moaning in passion.

_That little slut!_

Moriarty felt himself harden. He unzipped his pants and put down his glass, vigorously stroking himself.

_You stupid little slut! How could you? You're meant to be my equal! Mine! _

"Oh! Oh! John!"

Moriarty groaned as he reached his own climax. On the screen, John was crying out Sherlock's name.

Moriarty looked down, with distaste at the substance on his fingers. He grabbed a tissue from the box beside him and wiped himself clean.

_No. No this wasn't right. _

He reached forward and turned the television off.

Sherlock merely had to be shown who the better man was, that was all.

Tbc…


	5. Chapter 5

Amplification Part Five

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson

Rating: NC17 sexy times and see other warnings

Warnings: References to past rape, attempted rape and sexual abuse

Sequel to 'Sherlock's Bane' (link here

.net/s/6705082/1/Sherlocks_Bane).

Other parts here: .net/s/7363369/1/Amplification

Disclaimer: Belong to the brilliant minds of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Mark Gatiss & Stephen Moffat. I'm simply borrowing…

Summary: Six months on, Sherlock and John are still dealing with the repercussions of Sherlock's attack, when new revelations force it all to the surface once more.

Author's Notes: Just watched Scandal in Bohemia and am back in the wonderful world of Sherlock again. Enjoy!

It was the kind of morning in which sales in wood fire would increase, while, conversely, environmentalism conservatism would steeply decline. Standing on the banks of the Thames, at 6.30 in the morning, was akin to standing in the water itself. The wind bit harshly into Jim's flesh. He may as well have been standing naked in the damp shoreline. His thick winter clothes seemed to give no protection whatsoever.

Movement, to his left.

The man always moved with a stealthy grace. If Moriarty were any other man, he wouldn't have heard him coming swiftly towards him.

He turned and affixed a reptilian smile to his face.

"To what do I owe this unwanted pleasure?"

The other's smile was equally icy.

_But then, this is the ice man._

"Where's the tape?"

"Do you think attempting to blackmail me will force me to talk?" Moriarty had to admit, he was rather amused.

"You're here, aren't you?"

Moriarty's smile faded.

"Lestrade is a very good inspector. It won't take much for him to connect the dots."

_Don't play this game, ice man._

"You already know the power that I have-"

"And you know my power. Now, I ask you again. Where is the tape?"

"It's been sent to a… special place." The grin returned to his face. "I figured, seeing as Sherlock has the starring role, he should at least be able to watch it."

For the first time, an emotion broke through the cold calm of the brown eyes. Moriarty was delighted to think that the man might actually try and hit him. Both locked eyes a long moment.

"Goodbye, Mr. Moriarty."

Mycroft took his leave.

Moriarty was unconcerned. He flicked open his mobile. Sherlock hadn't replied to the text. But he would.

And he had to be prepared.

###

Sherlock carefully removed himself from the bed, glancing down at the sleeping Watson. For a moment, he felt warmth flood through him. It was an odd feeling… loving someone, caring for them… being loved in return. So much more complex than the finer workings of the intellect. He leant down and kissed John on the forehead. The man didn't move. Sherlock allowed a ghost of a smile to flit across his lips, before he moved to the wardrobe, grabbing clothes and shoving them on.

He was not a particularly deep sleeper, ears attuned to the smallest of vibrations. When his mobile went off at 6am, he instantly awoke and reached out to read it.

You must be very confused. Meet me at the Barney Road Warehouse at 7am and I'll explain the mystery of the train, M.

A part of Sherlock knew not to give in to temptation. Moriarty never brought anything but suffering to him. Yet, he couldn't resist the other genius.

The gratifying battle of wits.

He wrapped the red scarf John had brought for him around his neck and shoved gloves over his fingers, looking down to John, once more.

If John discovered what he was doing… or rather who he was going to, he would do everything he could to stop him.

An odd sensation was building in his stomach. If Sherlock wasn't mistaken, it was anxiety… no trepidation.

_Don't go! Something's wrong. Something's very wrong._

Sherlock scoffed at the voice in his head.

###

Moriarty glanced down at his watch.

7.02am…

_2 minutes late. Oh dear Sherlock…tsk tsk_

Footsteps sounded. Ah… so unlike his more elegant brother. But then, Mycroft was superior in so many ways.

He wasn't as fun as Sherlock, though; Moriarty had to admit.

He looked up through the rows of broken wooden crates to a wary looking Sherlock walking towards him.

He appeared to be holding no weapon, this time.

"Where are your goons?" Sherlock asked, as he stepped closer. His face was stubbled, his hair messed about. Bed hair.

"Just itty bitty me."

"I can't believe that."

"It's true! Though you'll never believe me, will you? Life's so unfair." He pouted.

"So why am I here?"

Moriarty recalled Sherlock's moans of pleasure the night before, as his dear doctor pounded into him.

"I'm going to tell you everything, Sherlock. Consider it a… favour.

"What kind of favour?"

"The man who was killed on the train was a terrorist-"

"If you're going to tell me something I already know-"

"He secretly installed a camera… in the lab in which you work."

Sherlock's entire body froze. "Excuse me?"

"This is what your brother's been hiding from you. They picked up his partner, who spilled all the details. They were planning a terrorist attack on a hospital and set up the camera to collect information. Of course, it was called off. Not before a certain, rather interesting scene was recorded onto tape."

"Where's the tape now?" Though his body was still completely still, his eyes flashed with emotion. Ah, how alike the two Holmes brothers' were.

"I have it."

Sherlock continued to stare at him, expression unfathomable. "What do you want?"

Moriarty smirked. Here was the moment. He started to surround Sherlock, a shark circling its prey.

"Answer me this, Sherlock…I need to know the truth, because I got involved in the situation on the presumption that you, the _virgin_, was raped."

This time, Sherlock couldn't hide his flinch. "I _was_ raped."

"Really? Because I couldn't see a rape victim giving to John Watson what you offer up every night."

An unknown emotion flashed in the pale eyes.

"You don't know anything about me and John."

Moriarty moved closer, whispering into his ear. "I've seen you, Sherlock."

He watched his victim's face intently. Sherlock was giving nothing away, but for his eyes.

"The man who was supposed to read the meter… he set up…a secret camera… in our room."

Moriarty laughed and patted him on the back. "Bravo!"

Sherlock's breath started to become exerted, his eyes focused on a far away point.

"Ah yes… you were breathing heavily like that when your doctor _fucked_ you last night. Your legs all wrapped around him-"

"Why are you doing this?"

"It's interesting…" Moriarty started to circle again. "Two cameras. Same view point."

"You were raped yourself. How can you-?"

Moriarty felt a suddenly ugly rush of temper. He stalked up to Sherlock and grabbed him around the throat.

"Don't you ever talk about-"

He was stopped by a sudden knee to the stomach. Winded, he dropped to his knees.

"You're sick. And I'm leaving."

"Sherlock…" Moriarty gasped. "You still don't know where the tape is."

Sherlock stalked back and grasped him by the hair, lifting his head up. "Tell me or I swear I'll break your god damned neck."

Moriarty grinned, leant forward and bit Sherlock hard in the upper thigh. Shame, he'd been going for his groin. Yelping in shock, Sherlock let go of his hair and stumbled back.

"Now now, this isn't the way this is going to go." Moriarty stood. "Breaking my neck won't tell you where the tape is. And I can withstand all types of torture."

"What do you want?" Sherlock cried out, this time his frustration evident in his face.

Moriarty felt a delicious tingling rush through him. The air was heavy with anticipation. He allowed the time to linger, relishing in it.

"You. I want you to give me what you gave to Toll. What you've been giving to the doctor."

Sherlock started again with the exerted breathing that already had Moriarty's blood pumping, particularly in one area. His face whitened.

"Don't do this." He whispered.

Moriarty stepped forward. In reaction, Sherlock took a step backwards.

"I respect you. You're a great adversary. Rape is beneath you."

"You truly disappoint me, Sherlock. I thought you were truly my equal. Now I discover you're just a slut."

"DI Toll raped me. You know it. That's why you helped me out before. Because it happened to you."

_Oh no, don't even start. You have no idea what I went through._

"Do you know what I did, after it happened to me? After I got over all the shock and the anger. I found the biggest, toughest man I could. And _I_ fucked _him_. You know what? He loved it. He was begging me for more."

It suddenly occurred to Moriarty how like a child Sherlock could look, at times, particularly now… his vulnerability present with every inch of his being.

"It'll be ok." He felt Sherlock tremble as he ran a finger down his cheek. "You'll enjoy it. You won't ever go back to your Watson. It's you and me, Sherlock." He suddenly grabbed Sherlock by the shoulders, forcing their bodies together, for the genius to feel his excitement. Sherlock was now shaking all over.

"Please… don't…"

To finally see the great genius at his mercy. He grabbed his chin and forced his tongue into his mouth, half expecting to be bitten as he sloppily kissed him, his hands freely touching his body. On Sherlock's part, but for the shaking, he was oddly slack in his arms. No matter; he'd respond soon enough.

He sucked lightly on his ear, and then whispered. "I'm gonna have you moan for me, as I fuck you. You're gonna love it."

"Get off me!" Sherlock suddenly pushed him back with great force.

For a moment, Moriarty could only stare at him, and then with a roar, he launched himself at him.

"No! You're mine!" He grabbed Sherlock and spun him around, slamming him face first against a crate. Moriarty was on him in an instant, pushing him forward, as he scrambled to undo his trousers.

"No!" Sherlock cried out brokenly.

_A voice screamed "No, stop!" over and over. It took Jim a moment to realize it was his own, so separate was he from the hideous pain and humiliation; from the mocking laughter._

Moriarty suddenly jumped back, releasing Sherlock, the fever broken.

What the hell had just happened? He felt a sickened feeling rise in his stomach. Sherlock swiftly turned. Moriarty took the punch to the face gratefully.

"Don't you fucking touch me!" The kick sent him flying against one of the crates.

"It's ok." Moriarty put his hands up in a surrender gesture. "I wont hurt you…. Anymore."

It was then that he noticed Sherlock's eyes. They were overly bright, as though he was holding back tears.

"The video has been sent to 221b Baker Street. It's the only copy."

Sherlock opened his mouth, as though to say something, then appeared to think the better of it. He turned to walk away and Moriarty let him, lost in his own anguished thoughts.

###

John wasn't too surprised to find the side of the bed empty. Sherlock often got up before him to work downstairs.

Only, he ventured downstairs to discover an empty room.

And some fierce knocking at the front door.

"Alright, alright." He grumbled, wrapping his dressing gown further around him as he answered.

A small boy stood on the other side, no older than ten.

"Yes?"

"Ah… I was told to give you this." The boy handed over what appeared to be a video tape."

"Excuse me?"

"A man came up to me in the street and gave me 5 pounds to give you this."

"Is this a joke?" John looked around for the hidden cameras.

"No joke."

John frowned. "Ok."

As soon as he took the video off the child, he rushed off. John closed the door and looked at the tape. Odd, certainly. No one used videos any more. Yet, and much to Sherlock's irritation, he insisted on keeping a video recorder.

He sat down on the lounge chair and studied it intently. It appeared to be simply a normal tape.

Still, a voice told him. May be best to give it to one of Lestrade's team.

_Nonsense! Whoever heard of a bomb tape?_

Heart hammering, John knelt before the video machine and switched it on, placing the tape inside and turning the television on.

There was static a moment, before a laboratory setting came up, a very familiar figure in the centre.

John felt an odd anxiety build in his stomach.

Another man walked into the scene. John recognized him immediately.

"No." He said quietly. "Oh god, no." He averted his eyes, as the man started to beat Sherlock.

He clutched at his stomach, revulsion filling his body. He had an odd feeling as to what this was. Only he didn't want to know, didn't want to see.

"What the hell is this?"

On the screen, the man was ripping at Sherlock's clothes. Thankfully, there was no sound but he could read the terror in his beloved's eyes.

No, he couldn't do it. Refused to watch Sherlock be defiled. With a shaky hand, he pressed stop on the remote.

"Oh god." His stomach twisted. He rushed over to the sink in time to be sick into it. So intent was he on his revulsion, he didn't even hear the front door open.

"I take it you saw the video." The voice spoke, after he'd finished. John jumped and turned. Mycroft stood before him.

"What the hell is that?" John realized he hadn't even attempted to clean up the mess he'd made.

"I'll explain everything. But first, I need a favor. I need to watch the contents of that video."

"Are you sick? Why would you-?"

Something hardened in the usually calm brown eyes. "I need to see what was done to my baby brother."

"It's in the past." John flailed. "We just need to move on. All of us."

"I need to see what that bastard did."

"He's dead."

Mycroft continued to stare at him.

"Fine. Do what you want. I don't care. Just… I won't be in the room when you…" He rushed upstairs to his mobile, hoping to see a message there. Sure enough, and to his relief, there was.

Just went out for some fresh air. Be back soon.

Fresh air? John looked to the bleak weather outside.

He sat on the bed, his head in his hands. He wasn't sure how long he sat there, not really thinking. Not wanting to.

Just wanting to escape…

Oh Sherlock. When does it end?

The sound of the front door closing shook him from his daze. He stood up and walked to the bedroom door only to have it opened for him, a frantic Sherlock rushing into the room.

"Sherlock?"

The genius ignored him, as he pulled a chair from the writing desk.

"Sherlock what are you-?"

Sherlock stood on the chair and unscrewed the light bulb, taking it out.

"Sherlock! Please, can you-?"

Sherlock turned to face him. Two things were immediately apparent. The first was the shallow cuts across Sherlock's face. The other was the small device in Sherlock's hand.

"What's going on?"

Sherlock shook his head, slammed the metallic object on the ground and proceeded to stomp on it.

"Sherlock what is that? Sherlock stop!" He went to grab his arm. Sherlock snarled and drew back. For a moment, his eyes blazed with such fury that John was certain he was about to be hit. Then, the charge died from the beloved face.

"What the hell is going on?"

"I know you have the tape. I know because Moriarty told me."

John already knew the answer to his next question. "He did that to you, didn't he?" He indicated the cuts on his face.

Sherlock nodded.

"And this?" He pointed to the smashed device littering the ground.

Sherlock closed his eyes. "I need to talk to Mycroft."

He abruptly departed the room. John could only stare after the space he'd left, a moment, utterly bamboozled.

He rushed after his lover, skipping two steps at a time.

"You have the tape?" He asked Mycroft.

"What did he do to you?"

Sherlock shook his head, reached his arm out.

Mycroft's lips down turned in a slight frown but he handed the tape over. Both Mycroft and John were silent as Sherlock threw it into the fireplace, where coals from the night before still hadn't burnt out.

"John stoke this for me."

"No."

Sherlock turned to face him, with a bemused expression. "Excuse me?"

"Not until someone tells me what the hell is going on."

Sherlock and Mycroft stared at each other a long moment, before the elder brother relented. "You don't need to know all the details. Suffice to say we became aware that a video camera had been secretly set up in the lab at Bart's. Certain… key people were interested in getting their hands on this tape…"

"You mean Moriarty…" John felt the sickened feeling in his stomach start to rise.

"What was that thing in the light, Sherlock?"

Sherlock was silent a long moment. "A hidden camera."

"Oh god… I feel sick." John collapsed on the couch.

Mycroft, however, continued to stare at Sherlock.

"What did Moriarty do to you today?"

"Nothing-"

"Sherlock! Don't lie to me."

"Get out!" Sherlock suddenly screamed.

Mycroft turned to John, an imploring look in his eyes. John could barely think. Someone had been secretly watching him and Sherlock. He'd never felt more violated.

"Ok… I'll take my leave." Mycroft caught John's eye again as he walked out the door. Something in that look-

Oh god…

John suddenly noticed Sherlock. Truly noticed him. The trembling carriage, the slightly exerted breathing.

_Oh no please. No please._

He took a deep breath. Careful, he told himself.

Sherlock was looking blankly around the room, as though he wasn't sure of where he was.

"Sherlock." John started gently. The blank blue eyes reached his. "Did Moriarty hurt you?"

Sherlock shook his head.

"Please…"

"The electrician…" Sherlock's voice was utterly toneless. "He put the camera in. Moriarty, he watched us…"

"I feel sick." John was thankful that Sherlock gave him a few moments to compose himself.

"He… I can't believe that he…I thought it was just flirting… harmless."

"Sherlock…" A part of John didn't want to hear it but he had to know. "Did he rape you?"

Sherlock closed his eyes. "No."

"Oh thank god." John walked up to him and put his arms around him, needing to be held.

"But he… he wanted to."

John pulled back, unable to suppress his horror.

"He told me he'd only tell me where the tape was if I…" the words tumbled out in a rush. "He started to kiss me and his hands were all over me… I told him to leave me alone. That's when he threw me against this carton… I could feel him up against me and I started to panic I thought he'd…"

"That bastard! That sick fucking prick!"

"Then he just stopped. It's like he was as horrified of his actions as I was. He told me the tape would be here."

"He… stopped?"

"Yes he…it was as though he was possessed. He came to his senses."

"Oh dear god. I don't know what to do. What do we do about this?"

Sherlock walked up to John and placed his arms around him, once more.

"Oh god, Sherlock." He hugged back, fiercely.

Tbc…


End file.
